


Flight From Death Indeed

by LilyLawiet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (Allusions to) Dudley Dursley, AU, Building a relationship, Building trust, Cats, Cornelius Fudge (Mentioned) - Freeform, Dolores Umbridge (Mentioned) - Freeform, Dolores Umbridge Bashing, Dolores Umbridge Being an Asshole, Evil Cat, Fudge works in the District Council, Ginny Weasley (mentioned) - Freeform, Hermione Granger (Mentioned) - Freeform, Kittens, M/M, Mutual Hatred of Dolores Umbridge, Neighbors, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Petunia Evans Dursley (Mentioned) - Freeform, Pre-Relationship, Requited Love, Ron Weasley (mentioned) - Freeform, Slight Harry Potter/Tom Riddle - Freeform, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-13 13:04:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18032282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyLawiet/pseuds/LilyLawiet
Summary: Written from a Tumblr prompt from dailyau@tumblr:"My stupid cat sneaked out on the balcony and in your open window and he has this habit of destroying furniture and pissing everywhere so I followed him inside and you came home earlier than I expected and found me in the middle of your living room but I swear I'm not a burglar ok"





	1. The Burglary

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm not great at this whole writing thing, but I have it a bash! As the summery says, this is from a prompt I found on Tumblr, none of the characters are mine, the idea just amused me

The summer heat was unbearable. It was the beginning of June, the dampness of spring rains had dried, only to be replaced by the now overflowing stickiness of sweat. The light wind dragged lazily through the dry, yellow grass and he wondered how much hotter it'd have to become for a wild park fire to scare away nuisance below.

Dispassionate dark eyes swept over the park below. The thing that held his ire was sprawled upon the dead grass beneath his balcony. A small group of teenagers lay sweating and baking under the clear sky, writhing and crawling in an attempt to communicate, but doing nothing more than squirming like oversized worms. His eyes were drawn to one in particular. A blonde boy, certainly the largest of the group, lay slouched against a park bench. A brown eyebrow quirked as a meaty palm slapped against the pavement in a few different spots before it dropped to the ground and the boy let out what sounded a wail - fitting, the observer thought briefly, a wail from a whale - groaning about his lack of refreshment. 

Snorting the observer, a tall young man, turned from his balcony door. The whale had outlived his entertainment value. The man stretched and grimaced, even with his windows and balcony door open his clothes still clung to him, and he wasn't wearing much having already stripped down to his vest and shorts. He refused to step one foot outside in his state of undress, not with the wretched woman living diagonally above him. She often leant out her window to oogle him, and try and engage in what he assumes is a form of flirting, but it's so dreadful it was hard to tell. He only knew she was after him due to that incident just before Christmas; he'd been leaving his flat and was about to head down to a little festive market in town when the woman had pounced on him. He'd been searching for his cat for hours that day, and his questions about its whereabouts were answered when the bat had swung the poor thing, dressed in a small elf ensemble, around in a garishly pink stocking. She had then manhandled him against his door whilst brandishing a sprig of holly. That was a Christmas he'd rather forget, but it was this incident that led to the perfect name for his cat - the creature had managed to squeeze itself from the costume and proceeded to rip the oversized sock -and her hand- to shreds. He fled from death at the hands of an insatiable old witch with a taste for younger men. Voldemort, an apt name for a cat so skilful, and as someone fluent in French he was thrilled with himself. It was for this reason, and this reason alone that he didn't report her to the landlord for inappropriate behaviour, pets weren't strictly allowed in the complex, but if he said nothing then neither would she. A mutually beneficial arrangement - though that wouldn't stop her trying something else in the near future. 

Sighing, he glanced once more at his balcony door, shuffling his possessions - a box of matches, a large candle and a journal engraved with the name Tom Marvolo Riddle, into their proper place, before his attention was caught by the very creature that'd saved him from the crone's clutches. Voldemort stood proudly upon his kitchen counter, tail raised high, and surveying a room like a king would his dining hall. He was certain that the only reason he kept the creature now was as a deterrent for the menace, he disliked it and it disliked him, and showed him so on a regular basis: his bookshelves had pale scars lining their dark wood, a chunk was also missing from the second bottom shelf of the case nearest the living room door, and he can't remember the number of cushions he's thrown out from Voldemort had decreed his litterbox was below him. There was nothing but mutual contempt on both parts, so it truly would be best for the creature to be rehomed.

The cat raised its flattened face to stare at him. He stared back. It's long, fluffy twitched behind it in agitation, his fingers twitched in anticipation. They stared, frozen in place, staring each other down. The beast pounced, deftly leaping from counter to the sofa arm, to the furthest cushion, but the man was ready. He sprung forward, tossing every soft furnishing over his shoulders, before grasping the corners of the latest designated litterbox and ripping it out from under the beast. It was launched from its seat and landed on the coffee table, back arched and snarling before darting through the balcony door. 

Tom stared after it for a moment before letting out a strangled yelp and rushing after it. Gripping the metal railing, his eyes swept the grounds below him, no signs of Voldemort's demise and no sign that the lumps had been disturbed - the beast hadn't lept from here. Flight From Death indeed. Then how- where had the wretched thing gone? The young man ran a hand through his sodden hair, it clung to his neck and forehead dropping slow trails from their tips. Tom took a sweeping look around, carefully avoiding being in sight of the balcony diagonally above when he noticed another set of balcony doors set ajar. His heart stuttered. What was he supposed to do now? The cat had wrangled itself into another flat, how was he supposed to get the beast back? It knew he was a man of solitude, never once had there been anyone but them in his home -his sanctuary- but now the cat had escaped the occupier of the flat it fled into would have to return it. No one was so important to enter here. Tom was often told he was arrogant and distant, but if his home was his place of solace, no one had the right to breach it.

No. There was only one thing for it, he'd have to take the bloody thing out of that flat himself. He'd heard the occupant leave earlier in the day, and usually, it was a while before they came back, he'd be in-out, and no one would know. Tom clenched his hands on the railings once more and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and for the first time in his life, he said a silent prayer, mourning his dignity as he set his foot securely on the top rung of the railing. He launched himself over, arms flailing, in nothing but his vest and underwear, before flopping down on the balcony diagonally below, knees bruised and hands skinned. He was humiliated, peering over the edge, the only consolation he had was that the lumps below were still engrossed in their burning to notice his glorious indignity. He sneered, picked himself up and slipped into the flat. 

His eyes were met by utter chaos.  
Voldemort was already at work, what looked like a gordy red and gold vase, or used to be, lay shattered next to a black leather sofa. Voldemort was wreaking havoc in the kitchenette, shredding maroon tea towels and trying his best to open the fridge door. 

Tom, once he surveyed the room and decided that the person living here had no taste, slowly advanced on the beast. He'd trap it, grab it and drag it back hissing and scratching before it did any more damage. Tom only wished it'd be that simple: he lunged for the beast, who screamed, darting to the top of the fridge, to fly down over the dining table and dived under the sofa. The man dived with him, down on his knees, his clothed arse swaying in his effort to drag the cat back out

"Well, I didn't expect this when I popped to the shops", Tom jolted, hitting the back of his head on the bottom of the seat and lost his grip on the cat. He didn't move. His head was still stuck under the sofa and his arse was still in the air, and, he thought is utter despair, he was still only dressed in his vest and pants. The front door dragged itself closed, shutting with a resounding clunk, as the beast tore itself from the sofa and settled itself back out on the balcony, tail swirling in the air behind it. Tom heard a chuckle and watched trainer-clad feet travel to the front of the sofa before it shuddered under the force of the person that had now flung themselves upon it. 

"Why, may I ask, are you in my apartment?" There was a note of amusement in an otherwise stern voice, an attractive voice. It was smooth, and warm and masculine. And laughing at him.  
Tom's head shot up, his dark eyes blazing up at the newcomer from between brown hair flopped in seaweed tendrils: how dare this man mock him, him- but as he took sight of green eyes before him his thought process stuttered to a halt. 

"I'm not a burger!" Fuck. He didn't know why that was the first thing he said, "fuck the cat!" … and why that was the second. This has got to be the most inarticulate moment since he had no teeth to articulate with, no wonder the man was laughing! His head -gloriously messy black hair- tossed back and teeth gnashing, Tom glowered at him from his knees on the floor behind the sofa, while the man calmed and leaned forward on the front, he folded his arms on the back of the seat and looked down at him.  
"Well, with your face down, arse in the air in nothing but your undies, I didn't think you were" green eyes rolled, "unless of course, the standards have significantly lowered, no. I thought perhaps you were one of dear old Dolores's friends who'd simply... gotten lost."  
Tom couldn't hold back a snort, dear Dolores indeed.  
"She does seem terribly friendly, especially when she tries to assault me with mistletoe" he bit out. The man grinned at that, looking pleased with himself.  
"Aaah, so you're him with the demon cat", he glanced around thoughtfully gesturing to the scraps of cloth on the floor, "the demon cat who for whatever reason ransacked my tea towels and- is that my vase?!" He deftly leapt over the back of the sofa and gathered up the shards of that ugly piece of pottery mournfully.  
"In that respect, he did you a favour" he got a glare in return for his opinion on that matter, oh well, it just proved him correct, the man had no taste.  
"I suppose I can't hold it against him, he did maul darling Dolores…" he carefully placed the pieces on the sideboard and grinned over his shoulder, "I'm Harry, by the way. What's your name burglar?" Tom swallowed, shifting from his knees into a more dignified, cross-legged position.  
"Tom. Tom Riddle", head held high, he may as well try to look like he had pride left, despite it fleeing the moment he was caught here. Harry, such a plebian name like his own, sauntered over to him once again, and leant against the seat, a hand ruffling through his hair.  
"Well then, Tom Riddle…" he dragged out his name, raking his eyes over his bedraggled form - maybe he did have taste after all - "I suggest you have a shower, I can lend you some clothes, you'll help me tidy up this mess your cat has created ..." Harry leant down, eyes glittering with malicious glee,  
" And then we can plan our darling Dolores' next meeting with 'the demon'".

Maybe he'd keep Voldemort after all..


	2. The Beast and The Gremlin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort is acting strange, and Harry's run-in with 'darling' Dolores clues him in as to why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> I was asked to continue this, and I tried!  
> I'm also very ill, so I hope it's okay.

It had been nearly three months since the 'Burglary' incident, and in that time Harry had formed a solid bond with the man involved and his cat. He found him, Tom, to be a little... Odd, and highly arrogant at times but beyond that, he seemed to be a nice enough person -when he wasn't thinking about murdering his cat. More than once lately, the green-eyed man had run into his diagonally upstairs neighbour, while the man cursed the fluffy beast. 

In all fairness, Harry couldn't blame him - he'd been kept awake for a few nights by the creature's caterwauling and if he was tired, he couldn't imagine how poor Tom felt. Despite this, the cat seemed to adore the green-eyed man, regularly escaping from the balcony above to land on his, causing a ruffled and irate Tom to come and collect him an hour later. Not only that, but the creature had begun to roam the building. Before the only areas of interest to him were places he could sleep, eat and use as a litter tray, and all of that was contained within Tom's apartment- and now in Harry's. 

But despite the menace that was Tom's cat, and the trouble it insisted on causing, Harry and Tom were slowly building a relationship. Harry knew Tom to be a private man, and Tom discovered that Harry had difficulties with trust, so every time Tom came to collect Voldemort they would sit and have tea together. It was nice, Harry hadn't had the opportunity to just sit with someone without the pressing need to be doing something. His best friends, Ron and Hermione, while he loved them to bits, they - Hermione- always had them doing something, be it going out to a cafe, shopping, reading... She was a ball of energy and Ron adored her far too much to say no even if she exhausted them both. Being with Tom, sitting or quietly talking over tea was pleasant if not intimate. 

Harry shook his head vigorously, his cheeks had warmed and he was certain if he looked his face would be flushed crimson with embarrassment. They were taking it slowly and hadn't even made it to hand-holding yet but the idea of him set Harry's heart racing and his lungs quivering as he desperately tried to drag in oxygen. This was a new experience for him. 

Of course, the black-haired man had dated before, but nothing had set his heart aflame like this, not even Ginny with her blazing hair and passionate heart. They had ended amicably, both seeking something more than what the other could give while working their way to a friendship. Surprisingly, it was Ron who was the most unsettled over their break-up. Being Ginny's elder brother he was heartbroken that his best friend would no longer be his brother-in-law. He took a few days to come around - speaking to no one but Hermione, but eventually, he was back to being his enduring, easy going self. 

Harry paused in his musings and glanced around his apartment; it had been two days since Voldemort's last escape and he was still picking up white tufts of fur.   
'That cat truly is a menace', Harry thought ruefully, though not really minding as he refilled the water bowl he left out for the beast. 

Grabbing the black bag from his kitchen bin, he tied it and rushed it out downstairs to the rubbish collection area, before disposing of it and scampering back into the building. Summer had officially ended and the autumn rains had begun in abundance, more than enough water to make up for the draught from his teenage years, the green-eyed man mused. He turned to the stairs and began to make his way upstairs again. 

"Hem, hem." Good lord how he despised that sound, almost as much as he despised the woman it came from. He turned his attention back to the doorway, only to find the woman he loathed running into. 

"Hello, Ms Umbridge." He offered. The woman seemed to puff up before his eyes, looking as dignified as she could muster with today's ridiculous pink ensemble. She tittered a little, and Harry felt the need to scratch at his skin, the sound made him itch all over. 

"Now, Mr Potter, I have insisted you call me Dolores, we are neighbours after all". The two maintained eye contact, Harry shifting on the stairs, affected by the awkward atmosphere and he had to admire the woman a little - he'd never met a woman so capable of making him uncomfortable, not even his 'beloved' aunt had that pleasure, she was far too detached to ignite the level of discomfort dear Dolores did. They'd had the Dolores-Ms Umbridge conversation before, and each time Harry ignored it - to her face, her given name was given plenty of use with a healthy dose of sarcasm when in enjoyable company. The silence continued, the silent challenge between them stretched on as Harry glanced from her clothing to the door, to anything in sight, and finally, the green-eyed man couldn't take the tension for a moment longer. 

"Is there anything I can help you with?" 

"Oh, nothing especially, you see I've just received the most wonderful present." She smiled sweetly at him and Harry hated himself for breaking because now they were having a conversation that he really would rather do without. He'd rather do without any interaction with the older woman, but she seemed to have a talent for finding him no matter how much effort he put in to evade her. 

"You see, my darling employer Cornelius - I did tell you about him didn't I, Mr Potter?" That was a particular tactic of hers, mention her 'darling Cornelius' in any conversation and it was almost guaranteed she'd get what she was grasping for. It was infuriating. 

"You mean Mr Fudge? The man you secretary for?" Her smile was sickly in its sweetness.  
"Yes, dear Cornelius. He's been rather stressed in his position on the council and said that without my invaluable help he surely would have had a lot of difficulties." Harry didn't know what Mr Fudge did on the council, but it was usually enough to sway people to 'dear Dolores'' way of thinking, with her being his secretary. 

"She doesn't like strangers and the poor sweetheart has been crying for days, but as you're associated with darling Mr Riddle and his frightful creature, you should know what to do. All my previous have settled quite quickly but she seems to be the delicate type." The green-eyed man had no idea where this conversation had gone, he understood presents but "she"? Had Fudge given her a child? Could the council do that? He knew he was a married man, but married men do have their little indiscretions, Dolores present may have even resulted from one. 

"I'm sorry, Ms Umbridge, what are you talking about?" Not a child, he prayed, he was sure only Umbridge would liken cats with babies, especially with Voldemort - they were loud, they made a mess, and the black-haired man was sure he was being approached because, since the Christmas incident, Tom had thoroughly fallen out of Dolores' favour. 

"Why, my present, Mr Potter. She's a true darling, a Purebred Peterbald I'm told, it's no wonder she's such a fragile thing being worth so much money." Purebred? Peterbald? Those were not names he associated with children, were they smuggling terms? Was this a racial kind of thing? Harry prided himself on being in control when it came to dealing with Dolores, but in this case, he was in way over his head.

"What ... exactly... was your gift from Mr Fudge?" Not a child, not a child, not a child-  
Umbridge's lips curled upwards in a satisfied smile, and Harry knew that this would not be good for him.  
"A cat, Mr Potter. My gift was an expensive, purebred cat."

\----------  
"A Peterbald? What sort of cat is that?" Tom sat slouched across his leather sofa, and Harry took a moment to appreciate how comfortable Tom had become in his company. It was a shame it wasn't the summer, the possibility of another look at the dark-eyed man in his underclothes left Harry slightly breathless. He shook himself as Tom lifted a green cup to his lips, raising an eyebrow. 

"A Peterbald is... well, a bald, wrinkly cat," Harry's face twisted as it googled the gremlin-like creature on his phone, but his face quickly lit up at what he stumbled upon. "Well, well, well. Dear Dolores' "darling" Mr Fudge has been naughty." The green-eyed man knelt on the arm of the sofa, leaning the phone over to Tom's face as he showed him the article he was reading. Tom's face didn't brighten or grin like Harry's but in typical Tom fashion, the corner of his mouth lifted and twisted into a mocking smirk, the kind that made bats swoop in Harry's stomach. 

"£1000? For that furless goblin?" He taunted, "clearly that man has more money than sense."  
"Depending on the breeder, and the purity of the breed, it can cost more. I've just seen one for sale at £3500, what people will buy to express their vanity," the black-hair man snorted. He kept scrolling through pages of cat information - the best foods, grooming - for ones with fur- activity, until his eyes came across something he found very interesting. 

"Hey, Tom, I think I've found the answer to Voldemorts' screaming." At this, Tom sat up, set his tea down on the coffee table, and reached for Harry's outstretched phone. He took a few minutes scrolling through the information before glancing up to his potential love interest -and if he was honest with himself, it was more than just "potential", and grimaced. 

"So, he's ... horny. He do we solve that?" Tom absentmindedly reached out for his tea, shuddering at the thought of Voldemort craving that kind of attention. Harry beamed, his unfortunate meetings with the Umbridge woman had finally borne fruit. 

"Well, Dolores did mention that her poor darling had been rather anxious. Crying for days, was what she actually said, and I agreed to go over when I had the time", he watched Tom's face as understanding blossomed. "We never did plan Dolores' next introduction to Voldemort. What better time when her darling obviously wants some company?"

\---------  
They had planned it for the next weekend. Harry would knock on the vile woman's door, explain he was there to help her poor darling little gremlin and slip Voldemort in when he left. He'd open one of her smaller windows while he was there to curb her suspicion and make it seem as if the beast had simply climbed in himself. With any luck, Dolores would be occupied for a long time and would be far too busy to corner either of them in the hallways. All good in their books - it seemed the perfect plan, but it went a little too well and Voldemort did too good of a job. 

\----------  
"Mr Potter! I'm glad I caught you, there's no need to say anything, just take this! I need to find Mr Riddle!"  
Red-faced and furious, the stout woman thrust a cardboard box into his chest - Harry having to drop his poor travel mug - before speeding down the hallway to the stairwell. 

The green-eyed man blinked before gazing longingly at the tea now spilt by his feet. Shifting the box he held in his arms he kicked open his door and set the box upon his coffee table. The black-haired man reached up to open it before a small cat-shaped, bald head pushed itself free and turned to stare at him. Getting a bad feeling, he slowly pulled open the top to reveal tiny, squealing Voldemorts. 

Tom was not going to be happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!   
> Please leave comments or criticisms, and I'll try to address them!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me comments!  
> I'd like to improve on my writing skill and it'd be nice to see


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